autumnal drabble
If I should be short on words
Sam, Dean
PG
105 words
The mountainside is a steep slide of graying brown smudged with blood amongst rust, flares of yellow. Days like this, overcast and dreary so that you feel you’re sleepwalking, the colors stand out sharper, punch through like bursts of vivid dream.
It’s hard to imagine this world being anything but an ending world. Dying light, dying again. It happens every year; doesn’t feel any different this time.
Gusts blast bright leaves against the windshield-a rain of fire that burns clean and cold and quiet.
Sam wraps his coat tighter with white knuckles, watching the dry air chap Dean’s fingers red, driving against the fall.
Title taken from “Seasons” by Chris Cornell.
Sam, Dean
PG
105 words
The mountainside is a steep slide of graying brown smudged with blood amongst rust, flares of yellow. Days like this, overcast and dreary so that you feel you’re sleepwalking, the colors stand out sharper, punch through like bursts of vivid dream.
It’s hard to imagine this world being anything but an ending world. Dying light, dying again. It happens every year; doesn’t feel any different this time.
Gusts blast bright leaves against the windshield-a rain of fire that burns clean and cold and quiet.
Sam wraps his coat tighter with white knuckles, watching the dry air chap Dean’s fingers red, driving against the fall.
Title taken from “Seasons” by Chris Cornell.